


the horrors we are living

by saekhwa



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Black Character(s), Canon Character of Color, Character(s) of Color, Episode: s01e12 Crazy For You, Female Character of Color, Female Protagonist, Female-Centric, Gen, Imprisonment, Isolation, Meta, POV Character of Color, POV Female Character, Race, Social Commentary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-11
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-05-24 23:35:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6171217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saekhwa/pseuds/saekhwa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>and that lie hangs in his mouth</em><br/><em>like a shred of rotting meat.</em> </p><p>— "Afterimages" by Audre Lorde</p>
            </blockquote>





	the horrors we are living

**Author's Note:**

> The gist of it is that I watched ep 1.12, had a lot of feelings and was pissed off at the longer-term implications, especially for my girl Shawna.
> 
> Thanks to my dearest friend [moriavis](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Moriavis) for encouraging me to come back to writing. 
> 
> Title and summary from [Audre Lorde's poem "Afterimages."](http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/171290)

What they want you to believe: bags of Big Belly Burgers, sweet smiles, and awkward laughs as Caitlin and Cisco lumber down to the Pipeline. They open each cell door and chat and ask, "Do you want anything else?"

If you ask them to set you free, they'll duck their heads and stammer, "I'm sorry."

What they want you to believe is that the Pipeline is for the best, that there are scheduled bathroom breaks, conversation, and a regular supply of food. Above all, there's the illusion of order. 

So don't ask _how_ like—

How do you sleep at night with nothing but your arm for a pillow? Or a jacket. If you're lucky enough to be left with one when the Flash abandons you here. 

How do you stop your muscles from atrophying? 

How long do you barter for some fresh air and sunlight? 

How many weeks does it take for you to stop beating yourself against the walls?

What they don't want you to consider about the Pipeline:

  1. Each cell is a rectangle. 
  2. They never turn off the lights. 
  3. Loneliness is defined by the twisting ache in your gut. 
  4. They often forget you're even in here. 



~*~

Wider than it is tall, each cell is a rectangle with gunmetal gray walls that are cold and hard. Those walls will become familiar to Shawna _after_. After the Flash knocks out all the lights in the tunnel and Clay abandons her. 

The Flash blindfolds her, even though she's already in the dark. She can't even see his face. He ties a strip of cloth around her eyes but holds his hand over it, too. Shawna's stomach drops when he zips them through the city. It's the first time she understands motion sickness. She wonders if Clay felt this way — the prickling slash of wind and debris hitting skin, the nausea, the _sound_ — when she freed him from jail. 

It's not the same _it'll be okay_ that the Flash tells her. 

~*~

The Flash's last words: "He's out there, and you're in here." Like it's inevitable. Like this small prison is where she belongs. The Flash and his friends call it something else, but when Shawna's eyes grow heavy and she slumps against the wall, curling into a small ball to stay warm, there's no denying what this is. 

At least in prison, they turn off the lights. Right now, the lights that infuse the cell are dimmed, but even with her eyes closed, it bleeds in. 

Shawna opens her eyes again, and for a moment, each brick takes on a blue tint. When she stares too long, losing hours and days to this _nothing_ , the walls turn white and then black. The walls become an endless, inescapable optical illusion, like the echo of the Flash's voice. 

Shawna shrugs off her jacket and smothers her face with it. It breaks the hitch in her breath, covers the wet sting in her eyes. 

~*~

"Remember when you were grateful he didn't kill you?" Shawna asks her reflection. 

She slaps her cheek, the mirror cold against her hot, stinging palm. 

She whirls away and screams, "Let me go!" Over and over again. "Let me out! I don't deserve this!"

When she turns, her red-rimmed eyes stare back at her. Her dry, cracked lips are parted. Her hair is starting to tangle on the right side, losing the sheen of her well-defined curls. 

Shawna slaps her reflection again and then disappears. She reappears in another corner of the room. She disappears and reappears in another corner of the room, again and again, until she collapses to the floor, exhaling a shuddering croak of a breath. 

~*~

 _They're saving the world._ That's the song and dance they give, but Shawna's jeans are still damp at her groin and thighs, and they still tell her, "No, we can't," as they tell themselves, "No one dangerous is leaving here again," without looking in a mirror the way she has every single breath she takes, because it's the only way she can count something _meaningful_. 

The objective reality is this—

In a world of black girl magic, the Flash calls himself a hero. It's so easy for him to believe when he never has to look at Shawna, look her in the eyes, and answer _how_?


End file.
